


Swaying From Season to Season

by Xairathan



Category: Yozakura Quartet
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Hanahaki AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14227473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xairathan/pseuds/Xairathan
Summary: A place for me to put all my Yozakura Quartet drabbles/shorts. Spoilers will be noted at the beginning of each chapter. Pairings will be Kotoha/Ao and some combination of Gin, Enjin, and Murasaki.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Volume 21 and 22 below.
> 
> This bit came to me randomly. The ending is kind of abrupt but that's because I haven't seen/translated enough of the fight afterwards to know how to end this, and I might also incorporate this into a larger project.

_Didn't I tell you I'd be okay?_ Kotoha says to her with a smile.  _I'm a Kotodama user, aren't I?_

This is the thought that plays endlessly in Ao's mind as she approaches Shiina's body on wobbly knees. If Enjin was using his power right now, it'd be all he could see.

It's his fault that Kotoha is bundled up in the back of an ambulance; that Shiina is lying flat on the beach, staring blankly into the silver-white light of a crowded night sky. In that moment, Ao knows two things: that she would never hurt her brother, and that this burning consuming her is a single-minded anger, meant for the monster dwelling in her brother's body. For all her worries and everything she's told Ao, Kotoha could never become a monster like this.

"Those powers are my brother's." Ao speaks into the cool night breeze, each word searing hot. She wonders if Kotoha's power feels something like this. Ao lifts her head, and the air around it buzzes with lightning. She remembers: Kotoha and Hime and Akina, impaled upon wreckage from a horrid battle: the image that Enjin had broadcast across Tokyo Bay. And she remembers, through the haze of time, the frayed recollection of Gin's smile: subtle, hardly even there, a wisplike grin that carried a fleeting warmth like that of a sunbeam. "Don't use my brother's powers like that," she says to the chill around them, this coldness that Enjin lives in. Again: "Don't misuse his powers!"

For the second time, a bright beam of blue and silver rockets into the sky. It shines in Shiina's eyes, a pillar stretching into the boundless heavens above. It gleams in Ao's, twisting and distorting, caught in the same vortex that is pulling Ao in slowly, inexorably. As it peters out, she finds herself thinking: is this how Kotoha felt; is this how Enjin feels? 


	2. Ochiru Koto Ga Kokochiyoukute Sa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A longer GinEnjin short I wrote to try and get a handle on Gin's speech pattern since we don't see any of it in YZQ. Title comes from DECO*27's song 'Streaming Heart' and means 'falling is such a pleasant feeling'. Spoilers if you haven't read past Volume 17

They keep Enjin down in the Senate basement, strapped to a bed that itself is tethered next to the Zerogou, its thirty-six ports open, silver walls gleaming in the cool air that filters down to the deepest level of the Senate building. The fact that Hime and Akina have chosen this place for Enjin to be suggests a hesitation that’s unique in dealing with him, but that’s only rational of them. The worst damage any youkai hunter had done to the town would be- Enjin frowns, eyes twitching involuntarily- well, none of them had nearly made the Nanagou bloom, and in the end, that’s what mattered. 

From down the long corridor to the elevator echoes the sound of grating metal: the elevator is moving, sliding down 108 stories with the same casual motions that remind Enjin of Sakura Shinmachi. He’s grown to hate it, and it’s the only thing about the town that he could really have hated, in spite of Oushyuu’s attempts to make him think otherwise. It was, in part, because seeing everyone in the town only reminded him of what he’d have to do come October; now, it’s because that elevator means  _Senate members:_ that blonde, Shiina, or that annoying brat of Iyo’s-

The elevator stops, doors sliding open, and a familiar itch manifests itself in the back of Enjin’s mind. He digs his head against the sliver of a pillow that’s been provided him, trying to scratch it out. Those measured footsteps he can hear don’t belong to anyone from the Senate; they belong to him, or rather the  _him_  that he used to be. 

Gin’s ears appear in Enjin’s field of vision a split second before his face does- calm, bemused, smiling as always. “There you are,” he says in that quiet lilt of his: he’s wearing that large black jacket, too, the one that Enjin had worn through the summer in spite of its weight and impracticality. So he’d regretted having to steal that body at first; so he’d wanted to remember the man he’d taken it from- so what? The body and the jacket are Gin’s again, and the memory of it shouldn’t make Enjin want to grind his teeth against themselves until they’ve been filed down flat, as much of a threat as Enjin would be, now.

“What’re you doing here?” Enjin asks, bottom jaw jutting out with distaste. “I’m surprised they let you come down here by yourself.” 

“You’re the one who let me know that I could use mental interference, and you’re surprised that I’m sneaking in here to see you?” Gin’s head swivels around, taking in the empty room and its high ceiling, Enjin lying flat against the bed and the instinctive tension in his arms, pinned firmly by the straps.

“Because you’re so concerned for me,” says Enjin. His laugh leaks a tired venom, and tapers off weakly when Gin lays his hand on his forehead. “You feeling sorry for me, Nanami?” he jabs. “Out of everyone in this town, you should be the one who hates me most. I stole your body, remember? Hurt your sister, your friends.”

“But did you want to do it?” Gin asks, and Enjin’s expression sours. Maybe it’s because he’s a Satori and Enjin isn’t, that he always seems to know what to say to make Enjin shut up. Gin’s fingers ruffle the edges of Enjin’s hair and tug at the straps, testing their tension. “They’ve got you tied up good.”

“Old man Iyo’s idea.” Enjin laughs again, a rough sound that scrapes the walls. “Glad to see someone in this town hasn’t lost their edge.” 

“Can’t be comfortable.”

“Do you really think that matters?” snaps Enjin, and Gin wonders if this had been what his friends had to face every time: someone wearing his own face, but whose snarls and bared teeth were nothing like anything Gin could ever have posed on his own. 

“It matters to me.” Gin doesn’t say anything, but the thought rings clear in Enjin’s mind as Gin’s hands work at the buckles, pulling clumsily at them. He hasn’t quite gotten the full grasp of his motor functions back, but it’s an improvement: and he’d made it down to this basement by himself, hadn’t he? 

“This is a bad idea.” Enjin wriggles one arm free of the loosened straps as Gin tosses another over the opposite side of the bed. “What if I fight past you and get loose? You have no idea what kind of trouble I could cause for you.”

“Yes, setting Youkai loose on us and threatening to Tune people with whatever power you have.” A wry smile touches Gin’s face, and that’s the closest he’ll ever come to one of Enjin’s smiles- it’s the tired tremor of the edges of his mouth that does it, Enjin thinks. “I’m a Satori. I could stop you if I wanted to. Besides, I’m supervising you.” 

“Is that what this is?” Enjin yanks his other arm loose and shoves Gin’s hands aside, clawing frenetically at the buckles. “You’re letting me have a walk, like some pet?” His eyes dart to Gin’s ears, a hint of a grin flickering behind them.

“Not quite.” 

Enjin swings his legs off the bed, shoving off of it, only to misjudge the distance to the floor. His unsteady sway is interrupted by Gin’s arms, secure around Enjin’s shoulders.

“You’re not quite used to that body either,” Gin comments. 

“Shut up,” hisses Enjin. “Nanami,” he adds after a pause.

“You’re making me miss when we shared the same body.” Gin lugs Enjin over in the direction of the Zerogou: their shoulders touch the wide column, and Gin begins to lower them onto the ground. “You used to call me ‘Gin’ back then.”

“Oh, it matters, what I call you?”

“Like I told you,” Gin says, and tilts his head. His ears twitch, but Enjin doesn’t feel anything in his mind that shouldn’t be there, nor that’s like anything he wouldn’t think himself. 

“Say it aloud, damn it,” he huffs. Another almost-smile: “Or are you a scaredy-cat, Nanami?”

“Fine, fine.” The breath that Gin takes isn’t as deep as Enjin thinks it’d be, but it still catches a little in Gin’s throat on the way out: “It matters to me.” And the unspoken follow-up to that, that even without Satori powers Enjin can nearly hear:  _You matter to me._

“I’m only staying put because you said that.” Enjin folds his arms over his chest and looks defiantly at Gin. “Next time you visit, you’ll have to do better.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Gin says. “What about cheesecake? Is that good enough?” 

He gets no response from Enjin: only the slow, almost imperceptible pressure of Enjin’s head resting gently on the fur-lined collar of his jacket. 


	3. It's Only Gonna Get Worse

Gin wakes up in a cold sweat, ears already twitching, struggling to adjust his eyes to the dark of his and Ao’s apartment. He doesn’t have time to pull on his coat, barely manages to shove closed one of the buttons on his shirt before he’s shoving the window up, shoving himself through it, spilling out into the humid summer night. 

Satori don’t usually jump from roof to roof- they save that for Hime, and sometimes Kotoha- but Gin makes an exception tonight. He doesn’t land on all fours, like Kotoha so often jokes he and Ao should. As soon as he feels solid tiles beneath the soles of his feet, he’s in the air again, traversing the sleeping town with awkward, heavy landings. He’s surprised he’s even gotten this far: some days, walking is a challenge in itself, and on others, he’s fine, like nothing’s ever happened. 

The trail leads him out past the circular voids of grass left behind by the Nanagou, to a station entrance that leads belowground. The man he’s looking for is leaning against one of the support pillars near the escalator, silver eyes surveying the moon, as if it’s somehow got the answer he’s waiting for. He shifts, shoving his hands into his pockets when Gin lands, dusting himself off, belatedly noticing that his button has come undone and that his scar is out in plain sight. 

“Wasn’t expecting you,” Enjin says. He turns his head, considers the escalator briefly. “But of course you’d be here.” 

“You’re going.” Gin doesn’t speak those words as a question. He knows the immutable resolve of Enjin’s mind, but only now does it finally strike home that this could be the last time they’d see each other. 

“This place doesn’t need me.” Enjin holds up a hand, and faint purple sparks dance over his fingers. “It has its Hiizumi.” His grin is more a baring of teeth, and he folds his arms tightly over his chest. “Things would be easier if I were a Youkai, but I’m human. If I stay here, I’ll just be inviting more trouble for everyone here.” 

“Thinking of others for once?” 

“Shut it.” Enjin’s friendly demeanor vanishes like a light shut off. He glares at Gin, lowering his chin to peer over glasses that aren’t on his face, that have never touched that face. “I’m doing this so you don’t have to deal with it.” 

“And where will you go?” 

“Someplace that still needs a craftsman. Maybe some village where no one will ever visit.” Enjin laughs, cackles. A shadow from a cloud masks his face, and Gin feels an old, deep-seated fear claw at the bottom of his stomach. He pushes it away, stepping closer. 

“And what if I tell Hime and the others?” Gin asks. “You know they’d go after you. You belong here as much as anyone.” 

“You won’t. And if you did, they’ll be too busy, anyway. You won’t send your sister, and your Kotodama won’t go without her. So you’d have to recruit someone who isn’t working, part of the police force, or part of the Consultation Office. Right?” Enjin’s smile widens into a grimace. 

“I’m not doing any of those.” 

“But you won’t come after me.” Enjin closes the distance, fingers reaching out to prod at Gin’s scar, jabbing him in the chest. Gin doesn’t stumble back, but sways under the force of his touch, reaching up to swat his hand away. “What’s wrong, Nanami? No guilty conscience to weigh you down, so what’s bothering you?” 

“You know when I woke up, I wanted to tell you that if you left, you’d better not come back.” Gin levels his gaze at Enjin, ears bending forward to press flat against his head. 

“But you don’t know what to tell me now.” 

“Now I want to ask if you’re even sorry.” 

“What do you think? Don’t cheat.” Enjin flicks his eyes up at Gin’s ears, but they stay motionless. “Tell me.” 

“I think you’re more sorry for yourself.” Gin sets his jaw, works it from side to side. “But that might not be so bad.” 

“Keep thinking that, Satori.” Enjin’s head swivels in a half-circle, scanning the nearby rooftops. “Surprised the land god hasn’t shown up to haul me back.” 

“Maybe she knows I’m here.” 

“Then she should know you’re not stopping me, no matter what you say.” 

“Maybe,” Gin says. He can’t make his ears go any flatter. “Enjin.” 

“Make it quick. Last train leaves in five.” 

“I could make you stay,” Gin whispers to the ground. “You’re not a Satori anymore. You can’t deflect mind interference.” 

“But would you?” Another step closer, until their faces are nearly touching. “That’d make you just like me, right?” 

And Gin’s heart, beating frantically since he woke up in bed, racing incessantly, reaches its limit. His hand snaps out; his fist winds itself in the fabric of Enjin’s shirt, and their lips touch. It’s only for a second. His exposure to the Hiizumi family’s brand of power was much longer, but it fails to compare to the sensation flaring in Gin’s throat, stinging his eyes. Enjin pushes him away after that second, chest heaving, his mouth a trembling, untamed line. He doesn’t look at Gin, staggers down the escalator drunkenly, and Gin doesn’t try to read him. He leaves immediately, not needing to hear the distant echoes of automated announcements to know that Enjin’s gone, nor wait to see the lights of the last train rise from the ground to float amidst a sea of darkened houses. 

He goes home. 

Hime and Akina ask him the next day, and the next week, and the next month, if he knows where Enjin went. He tells them, truthfully, that he doesn’t know. Ao and Kotoha don’t ask. Yuuhi and Yae might know, but they don’t say anything, either. 

One day in the winter, after Gin’s cleared the frost from the mail slot and fixed its creaking hinges, he finds a postcard stuck to the inside of the door. On its front, there’s a picture of lightning striking Tokyo Tower; on the back, a single word: Fukui. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to too much Bastille, especially their remix of 'Bloody Shirt', which inspired this. 
> 
> Probably going to have some inconsistencies with the reveals in C133.


	4. Morning Shadow Requiem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A restless night shared by two people who haven't moved past their own guilt yet

The harsh light blurs against Murasaki’s eyes, painting them silver. The small, hand-sized _shikigami_ that Murasaki’s assigned to wake him if his phone vibrates jumps insistently on his head, kicks his ear. “I’m up,” Murasaki mumbles, knowing he could just order the _shikigami_ to stop what it’s doing. He waits for his eyes to adjust instead, lifting his head to squint at the small lines of text laid out on his phone screen.

_Are you up?_

And Murasaki taps back, _yes_ , because even if he’d just been deep asleep the moment before, there’s no way he’ll allow himself to miss this. That’s what the _shikigami_ is for.

_Can I come over?_

Again- _yes_.

Murasaki sucks in a breath, running a hand through ruffled, unkempt hair. It’s the end of autumn, and it’s just turned cold enough for Murasaki to want to sleep with three blankets instead of two and wear long-sleeved shirts to bed. He shivers as he slides out from under the warmth of the covers and hobbles to his closet, grabbing his Senate cloak and throwing it over his shoulders. He doesn’t really need it for a simple visit, but it keeps him warm, offers a hint of familiarity that he knows he wouldn’t be able to go without.

He sets a pot of water on the stove to boil and prepares tea leaves in a kettle. By the time they’re ready, freshly steeped, Murasaki’s gone to answer the knocking on his door.

The outside cold seeps in through the doorway, and in comes Gin along with it, bundled up in his coat, face hidden by his hood. He follows Murasaki to the kitchen table, where a cup of hot tea waits to chase the bitterness from his body.

“Nightmare?” Murasaki opens the conversation with a guess. He’s never been one for formalities, and he knows Gin wouldn’t be up for them, either.

“Luckily not this time.” There’s a slight rise in Gin’s voice that speaks to Murasaki of a quick, fleeting smile, soon disturbed by Gin lifting the tea to his lips. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“What was it?”

“Ao. Akina. Hime. Everyone.” Gin cradles the tea in both hands, refusing to put it back down on the table. He only does this, Murasaki thinks, when his hands are shaking too much to trust them to stay still without something to grip on to. He wonders if Gin knows that about himself, or if he’s unaware of that, another thing he’ll have to grow accustomed to.

“You know it wasn’t you who was doing those things.” Murasaki surveys Gin over the rim of his own cup. He can only say those words so many times before they start to ring hollow in his ears, and in Gin’s.

“But I was there, wasn’t I? He was using things I knew. Maybe if I’d tried harder-”

“There wasn’t anything you could have done.” Murasaki’s gaze rests on the table, following patterns in the wood. He doesn’t want to look up at Gin, even if he’s got his hood on, for fear their eyes might meet. He can’t stand seeing Gin in these moments, indecisive. It’s like looking in a mirror, if only he loved his reflection. “It took Akina hitting him with Tuning to shake him off. The first thing you did when you woke up was to save this town a second time. You can’t fault yourself for what happened.”

“Right.” Gin’s sigh ripples across his drink. He lifts one hand, trembling slightly, to pull his hood back. Murasaki dares a glance up at him, and quickly looks away again. Gin’s eyes are rimmed in red and purple, and his shoulders hang high around his neck with tension. “I guess I needed to hear you tell me that.”

“You know you could’ve called me,” Murasaki says. “Or used your power.”

“It’s not the same.” Gin smiles again: longer, more genuine than the last. “I guess I’d call it soothing.”

“The tea?”

“Your voice.”

“Oh.” Murasaki’s cloak shifts, creeping up to conceal his neck behind suddenly longer collar flaps. “I’m glad I could be of some help.”

“You know, you tell me to stop blaming myself for what happened, but you need to stop, too. About that whole Touka thing.”

“Did you read my mind?”

“It’s obvious.” Gin gives another weary, amused sigh. “Well, I guess that’s the reason I can come to you, after all.”

Murasaki nods and tilts his head back, draining the last of his tea. He stands, going to refill his cup, an excuse to turn his back to Gin for a moment. “Did you want to talk about anything else?” he says as the heat from the tea suffuses his palms.

“Maybe tomorrow.” He hears Gin’s elbows thump against the table, and a moment later, the gentle clatter of the porcelain cup against the wood. “I need to sleep. Do you…”

The question stretches, unfinished, into the silence. Murasaki stays carefully frozen by the stove, staring out the kitchen window. It’s a twenty minute walk back to the Nanami residence from here, and it’s cold, even for someone who dresses like Gin. He doesn’t need to be out there, they both know that; what Murasaki finds himself wondering now is if Gin knows that the reverse is true- that Murasaki wants, maybe almost needs him there.

“Can you talk to me until I fall asleep?” Gin says. “It might help. You can talk about anything- your research, I guess.”

“Sure. Of course.” Murasaki stumbles over the words as he sets his cup down by the sink. Gin’s chair scrapes against the tile floor, Gin rising and following Murasaki down the hall into his bedroom. “Do you mind if I take one of the blankets?”

“Huh?”

“I…” Murasaki stammers, gestures, settles for pointing his thumb over his shoulder towards the small armchair in the living room.

“We can share,” Gin says. “It’s big enough, and it’s too cold for you to stay out there.”

“If… if that’s what you want.”

Murasaki walks a half-circle around the futon, climbing in opposite Gin. The blankets have chilled since Murasaki left them, but he feels warmer already- right, his cloak, he tells himself. He shrugs it off and throws it in the direction of his bedside table, hears it drape over the edge, taking his _shikigami_ with it.

He rolls onto his side and finds himself face to face with Gin, his eyes already closed, ears pressed against his head and arms crossed loosely in front of himself. “Nanami?” Murasaki asks, reaching out to touch him.

“Still awake,” murmurs Gin. His ears twitch, as if gravitating towards the source of Murasaki’s voice.

“Right. Um…” Murasaki settles onto the futon beside Gin, staring at his face. It’s not the first time he’s had the chance to observe Gin like this, but it still fascinates him, how peaceful Gin looks compared to Enjin, how his smile could seem so blissful even when Gin himself has all but crumbled into a standing ruin of doubt and guilt.

“I guess… I guess I should thank you,” Murasaki begins. Gin doesn’t react to him, so he continues: “For getting me to talk with the others more, I mean. I didn’t think they’d ever really let me be a part of them, after everything. I didn’t grow up here like them, and I haven’t dealt with youkai all my life like Akina. I guess you’d understand the most out of everyone, since you’ve just come back after a long time.”

Murasaki closes his eyes, shifting himself closer to Gin. Here, he can pretend the warmth he feels might be Gin’s, or that by some chance movement of their bodies, they might touch, if only for a second. “So, thank you,” he breathes, a silent admission. Gin doesn’t stir- Murasaki watches the rhythmic movement of his chest for several seconds before he realizes Gin’s already fallen asleep.

“I guess you really were exhausted…” Murasaki whispers. He reaches for the blankets, pulling them up around Gin’s shoulders, smoothing wrinkles that aren’t there. “Good night, Nanami.”

Rolling back over, Murasaki searches the floor for his _shikigami_ , finds it trying to climb back up the nightstand. “Tell me if he wakes up before I do,” he mutters to it, and doesn’t bother to check if the little golem has acknowledged his order. The warmth of the futon is too alluring for his tired mind to resist, and a moment later, he follows Gin into sleep.

At the foot of the nightstand, the _shikigami_ too lets itself rest against the wooden boards, slumped over as if to tell its creator that he will not find himself alone when he wakes in the morning, still warm despite the blankets having been kicked off in the middle of the night.


	5. Hanahaki AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can you have a series named 'yozakura quartet' and not have a Hanahaki AU

The front of Murasaki’s apartment is unremarkable, and Gin doesn’t know what to make of it. He lifts his hand, raps his knuckles against the door, a sharp sound that Murasaki could only ignore if he were asleep. Gin knows he isn’t- he can feel Murasaki’s mind, flickering like a flame would at the edges of his vision. He doesn’t push further, not wanting to breach Murasaki’s privacy, and waits with his hands in his pockets for an answer.

No one’s seen Murasaki in a month. Rin says that he orders ramen, sometimes, and looks paler every time he answers the door. Shiina mentioned that he’s been submitting his reports on time, and the nature of his research means working from home isn’t a problem. Her tone was clipped but clear: the Senate would have no interest in whatever Akina and the others were concerned with, as long as Murasaki continued to be productive.

Murasaki still hasn’t answered. Gin puts his ear to the door, hearing nothing. “I know you’re awake, Iyo,” he calls out. “It’s me, Nanami. I just want to talk to you.”

Gin’s phone buzzes beside his palm. He pulls it out, glances wryly at the screen.

_I don’t want to talk._

He’d expected something like this. “It’s this, or else Hime and Akina are going to come,” Gin tells him. “You know they won’t take no for an answer.”

Another bout of silence settles over the doorway. Finally, the sound of footsteps. They sound too light to be Murasaki’s, and as the door swings open, Gin’s worries are confirmed. A _shikigami_ stands with both thin hands wrapped around the handle, pulling the door aside so Gin can step through into the unlit apartment. It’s still, terribly so, and in the stillness lurks a scent so cloying that Gin can feel his throat tightening, going dry.

“Iyo?” Gin calls. He creeps past the _shikigami_ , down the hall. The golem follows him, moves past him, lumbering awkwardly to join a procession of its smaller fellows gathered, like a congregation, around a hot water boiler plugged into an outlet near the sink. They, in turn, are surrounded by flowers, withered things that cling weakly to brown, shriveled stems, gathered in piles on the counters, by the window, in the sink. Gin reaches for one, lifting it between his fingers. By the time he’s lifted it to eye level, the petals have crumbled away, leaving him with a brittle length of dead stem in his hand.

 _Down the hall to your left_.

The phone in Gin’s hand, forgotten, fills the dark apartment with a sudden light. It washes over the shadowed corners, throwing its illumination over petals swept against the walls and under cupboards. From further down the hall comes a hoarse, muffled sound, which joins the sweetness in the air in raking hot dread down Gin’s throat.

“Iyo?” Gin calls again. His tread raises protests from the floorboards, drowning out the feeble coughing coming from Murasaki’s room, its door ajar. His eyes, adjusting to the dark, pick out the pointed shape of petals on the floor, spilling out into the hall in varying stages of freshness. The smell is strongest here. Gin settles his stomach with a few quick breaths and presses on, peering through the doorway while the crunch of petals underfoot announces his arrival.

“Nanami.”

The word is a passing breeze in a room distinguished by its unearthly quiet. He can no longer feel Murasaki’s mind, Gin realizes. He must have passed through an anti-youkai barrier the moment he entered the room. Before he can ask, another question forces his way to his lips and dies there, along with everything else Gin might have said.

Murasaki lays prone on his futon, blankets shrugged off into a corner of the room, his Senate cloak draped over his shoulders. He rests amidst a sea of flowers, purple and blue and blue tinted red, which cover the floor, his tablet, his arms. Murasaki’s head lolls weakly to face Gin as he enters, and Gin feels his stomach lurch. The motion has disturbed enough of Murasaki’s cloak for Gin to see the way his shirt hangs loose from his body and the maroon staining the bottom lining, echoes from a time when Murasaki still had the strength to lift it to his mouth.

“What…” Somehow, Gin finds it in himself to trudge through the petals, carving a path through them with shuffling motions of his shoes, and kneels at Murasaki’s side. The boy groans at his approach, his chest heaving violently, and from his mouth come several more petals and a fresh blue flower, its edges painted with brilliant crimson. “No,” Gin says, his eyebrows knitting together. “Hanahaki isn’t real. It’s just a story-”

“Oni aren’t real,” Murasaki laughs. He curls in on himself, pressing the flat of his arms against his stomach, purple eyes ablaze with pain that doesn’t match his smile. “They’re just a story.”

“But this- it’s never been reported before.”

“The dimension merge…” Murasaki pauses to gasp for breath, eyes moving towards his tablet.

“You think it made things possible that weren’t before,” Gin says. “Or that when the dimensions overlapped, just for that moment, the interaction between the youkai plane and this one caused things to happen with lasting effects.”

“My research-” Murasaki nods, seized by another fit of coughing. He reaches, fingers shaking, for a glass of water that Gin hadn’t noticed before: if anything, there are more petals in the glass than water, a conflicted mass of pink and purple.

“Hanahaki’s cured by- by getting it removed or by telling the person you have feelings for, right?” Gin takes the glass in both hands and lifts it to Murasaki’s lips, tilting it only slightly. The water spills into Murasaki’s mouth, and he forces it down with a grimace, one single mouthful making him heave for a long while after.

“Can’t remove it,” Murasaki whispers. “Part of me.”

“Because of the way the dimensions overlapped.” Murasaki nods, and Gin asks: “Do you know who it is?”

Another nod, another fit of coughing. Gin finds himself reaching for Murasaki, gathering him up into his arms and supporting Murasaki against his body. Murasaki’s head comes to rest against the crook of his neck, horribly cold, and the hands that come up to clutch at the collar of his jacket remind Gin more of brittle, knotted stems than flesh and bone.

“Then tell them.” Gin doesn’t know what to do with the boy nestled in his arms, can’t bring himself to look. He can feel the movement of Murasaki’s chest, a hesitant, stuttering rise as Murasaki takes each breath, accompanied by an equally painful release of petals and blood. How Murasaki isn’t crying, Gin isn’t sure. He might have grown used to it, grown numb to it, a prospect that’s equal parts haunting and familiar.

“Won’t work.”

Gin finally manages the courage to look down. Murasaki’s expression is oddly peaceful, and his eyes are shut as he lets his grip relax, only just continuing to hang onto the edge of Gin’s coat.

“You don’t know that.”

“Think about it.” Murasaki smirks, the ghost of his old self appearing briefly, a pang that resonates through Gin’s chest. “I’ve been back… two months? Three? Who would know me that well… who could return any sort of feeling?”

“Maybe…” Gin struggles to grasp for words, unsure of what he could say to soothe Murasaki. Murasaki’s mouth is set into a forlorn smile, a sign of acceptance forged from the pieces of broken hopes. “Maybe whoever it is would have feelings for you… like Touka. It’s Touka, right?”

“No…” Murasaki doesn’t even laugh aloud this time. It streams freely from his eyes while his body shudders and petals and flowers leave his mouth, covering Gin’s sleeves.

“Tell me who it is,” pleads Gin. “I can… I can find them with my power. You can tell them. Maybe…”

“There’s no need.” Murasaki opens his eyes, staring straight into Gin’s.

They’re beautiful, a fleeting thought says, if only he could look at them forever.

“You can’t just- give up!”

“There’s no need,” Murasaki repeats. He continues to watch Gin, his gaze unwavering, as if he’s gathered the last of his strength and concentrated it in his eyes, so they will continue to remain true even as his body fails.

“Murasaki!”

More coughing, gasping, punctuated by a quiet chuckle that ripples through the petals filling Murasaki’s throat. “You called me my name.” His hands tighten on Gin’s jacket with sudden newfound strength.

“Murasaki…”

It clicks. The quiet glances Murasaki would steal as they rebuilt the town, when he thought Gin was occupied with the others; the nights that Murasaki would spend awake with Gin, exchanging messages over the phone or with Gin’s power, spent consoling each other; the subtle tremors of Murasaki’s face whenever Gin brought up Akina, or Enjin. He could be wrong; he could use his power to see if he’s right, but Murasaki has his face buried in Gin’s coat, and he sobs into it what could be Gin’s name over and over again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gin asks. He knows the answer before Murasaki says it- they’ve spoken about this at night. How could you hope to say you know a town when you’ve been away from it for so long? How could you claim to know someone after not speaking in years; how could Gin pretend to act like things were like before; how could Murasaki ever be accepted with what he’d done?

Murasaki continues to whisper into his coat, his single plea leaving his lips more frequently now than the petals, _Gin, Gin, Gin, Gin…_

He doesn’t stop as Gin’s hand winds into his hair. He doesn’t stop as Gin’s lips press solemnly to his forehead; he doesn’t stop until Gin’s mouth covers his, stilling it, returning them to silence. Gin’s voice blossoms in Murasaki’s mind, warm and reassuring. _It would be you_ , he tells Murasaki. _You’re the one who knows me best right now._

Murasaki pulls away, shakes his head. He buries his face in Gin’s coat again, and this time his body shakes with pent-up tears finally finding their escape. He trembles as Gin rubs his back, as Gin’s lips touch the top of his head, as the mind-numbing pain that’s lived and grown inside him for so long recedes, a void left that Murasaki can’t begin to understand how to fill.

 _It’ll be okay_ , Gin says to him. His eyes, now, are closed. He lets Murasaki press against him, feels the quaking of his chest as he cries, hears thick gasps for air punctuated by renewed sobbing. Through all of this, not a single new petal passes from Murasaki’s mouth. Another mark of that final battle vanishes from the human world. And with that, they both know Gin is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drabble collection did I say drabble collection I meant YZQ collection


	6. I Could Be, If I Tried

He’s used to finding Enjin in one of the bars that’s open ‘til the first hint of morning light pokes its way through the tangle of skyscrapers and snarled power lines. Enjin doesn’t drink, Gin knows, but that doesn’t stop him from riding the Yamanote line out to Shinjuku and finding a place to spend the night, steeping in the smell of smoke and drunken, mindless conversation until it’s bright enough for him to return and try to get some dreamless sleep.

No one looks at Gin as he slips through the back door from the alleyway, weaving his way through the sea of stained dress shirts. A dozen gazes pass over him, wanting only another drink, paying no mind to the man with blue hair and a coat that’s out of place in the summer that’s taken a place at the counter.

Enjin doesn’t acknowledge Gin’s arrival, dragging the tip of his finger around the lip of his glass. His face barely shifts from its already established scowl, but his eyes flash with the same anger that radiates from his body, offering him a little pocket of space that people try to avoid.

“Enjin.” Gin reaches over and lays a hand on his wrist. Enjin shakes him off, as he always does; “Come home”, he presses, the only greeting he’s ever given. Enjin jerks his head from side to side, continung their ritual. Tonight, his knuckles are white around his glass. “You don’t have to sleep.”

“Leave me alone, Nanami,” snaps Enjin. “I didn’t ask you to come get me.” He grins, baring fangs and a distorted grin that Gin still doesn’t know how to imagine mirrored on his own face, and lets Gin fill in the unspoken implication. Who else would?

“You know I’m not leaving here without you.”

“You know I’m not leaving before I’m done here.”

“And what do you do here, anyway?” Gin breaks from the routine, eyes narrowing. Enjin blinks once, registering surprise. “You don’t talk to anyone. You don’t drink anything hard. You hate everyone around you, so why keep doing this?”

For this, Enjin has no quick, biting reply. He lets his gaze drop down to his glass, heaves breaths through parted, trembling lips, hunches his shoulders high defensively. With his other hand, he makes a gesture, flicking his wrist towards Gin. Gin’s ears twitch, and his mind makes contact with Enjin’s.

He needs this sea of voices. It doesn’t drown out his thoughts entirely, but it’s something else to drown in. He’s used to it. He’d spent so long with it that to go without is like choking for a lack of air. It’s heavy here, and he hates it, but he’s hated nearly everywhere he’d been sent anyway; at least he’s here of his own choice.

This is one thing Gin can’t offer Enjin, no matter what he tries.

Gin inches his stool closer, shoulder touching Enjin’s. The bartender walks by, placing a glass of water a foot to Gin’s left for a customer that isn’t there. Gin pulls it over, takes a sip from it, then slides it over for Enjin to consider. “Yours is empty,” he says, as if that is the explanation that’ll unravel everything around them.

“Not gonna drag me home today, Nanami?”

“It’s Gin.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s what you called me back then.” Gin’s hand reaches over, resting gently on top of Enjin’s. “If we’re doing this, then we might as well make it accurate, right?”

“This?”

They’re surrounded by voices again. It’s hard to breathe; Enjin hates it, Gin regrets it. It’s what they know; Oushyuu haunts them still; the only thing missing from this place would be his throne. Enjin doesn’t shy away from Gin’s hand, running along the side of his face to turn it towards him, lets Gin sink against him, and himself into Gin. This, and each other, are what they know.

 


End file.
